To All The Things We Cannot See
by Shasta627
Summary: Mateo notices it's getting harder to make out the text in his spellbooks. Over time it only gets worse, until he finally realizes he doesn't just need glasses: he's going blind. [One-shot. Elena x Mateo. Complete.]


_**A/N: Written for the 2019 Eleteo Appreciation Week (Day 5: Angst) on Tumblr. I regret nothing :) (ALSO LOOK AT THE COVER ART! My amazing friend lovelyrugbee drew it and I'm in love with it~!)**_

* * *

It's at the beginning of the year that Mateo notices he needs to squint in order to read the text in his spellbooks, but it doesn't bother him too much. He thinks he's just tired, and there's no reason to worry about it.

He puts the observation in the back of his mind and continues on with his daily life...

...

A few months go by before he notices his diminishing eyesight is definitely not due to lack of sleep. He keeps squinting at everything now, trying as hard as he can to make out a clear picture, but it's all fuzzy and indistinct and hard to focus on what he's seeing.

Maybe it's because he reads in the dark? His mami often tells him it's a sure way to put strain on his eyes, but he's never believed her. Maybe he should start heeding her advice from now on, he decides, and returns to his work.

...

It isn't until he's talking with Elena a few weeks later that he realizes it may be more serious than he thinks.

"I don't understand," he's telling her one afternoon. "I can't find the vial anywhere! I've looked all around my workshop and the library, but it's like it's just disappeared." He frowns, shaking his head in frustration.

Elena's frown mimics his own as she comes to stand beside him at his desk. "But Mateo," she says to him. "Isn't it right here?" She grabs an object off of the desk and hands it to him, and sure enough, it's the vial.

"But…" he trails off, squinting at the empty cylinder in astonishment. Now that it's in his hand he can see it's the very object he's been searching for all day, but earlier it looked just like the pestle he uses to ground up herbs for his potions.

He sets the vial down and rubs a hand along the side of his face. "I think I need glasses," he announces in all seriousness, but Elena just laughs and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she reassures. "It happens to everyone. Just the other day I spent a good twenty minutes searching for my scepter before realizing it was already in my sheath." She giggles again, and Mateo can't help but smile at her in return.

But in the back of his mind the worry lingers, and he knows something is terribly, terribly wrong.

...

He finally decides to visit the palace physician after he accidentally walks into a wall while heading to the library.

"So what seems to be the problem?" the physician asks as soon as Mateo steps into her office.

Mateo glances around the room in confusion before answering with a question of his own. "Why...why is it so dark in here?"

He vaguely sees the doctor frown before she steps closer to him, her eyes scanning his face. "I assume you came because of your eyes," she says, much to Mateo's astonishment.

"How did you know?" he asks hesitantly. Did his face immediately betray his predicament?

"This room's fairly well lit, yet to you it's dark. That seems like a vision problem to me," she explains before having him undergo several eye tests.

The results are not great, to say the least.

The physician hums in discontent as she looks over the notes she took while he was performing the various vision exercises she gave him. "It isn't looking too good," she admits softly.

Mateo's stomach clenches. "What does that mean? Do I need glasses?"

The look of pity she fixes him with is almost worse than the news she delivers.

"Your vision is going fast," she says. "And in a few months, I'm guessing you'll be completely blind."

...

Mateo sits on the steps of the palace and fastens his eyes on the sunset before him. It's a common sight in Avalor, yet he realizes he's never given much thought to the canvas of colors in the sky before, and with a pang of remorse he knows it's a sight he's going to definitely miss seeing.

He's been trying his best not to panic. As soon as the doctor told him the news he ran back to his workshop as fast as he could and began trying to find a way to reverse the blindness, but there is only so much magic can do.

He can feel the fear creeping up, the black monster of panic wrapping around his heart and squeezing it in a vice-like grip, but so far he's kept it at bay.

For today, at least.

He hears footsteps behind him and suddenly Elena is by his shoulder, sitting down next to him.

"Hey! What're you doing out—" she pauses, and Mateo assumes she's seen his grave face. "What's wrong?" she asks instead, her voice soft and concerned.

Mateo turns to look at her, and soon realizes what a horrible mistake it was.

All at once he realizes that in a few months he'll never be able to see her again. He'll never see her beautiful face with her perfectly red lips, or large chocolate eyes and deep brown hair that tumbles down her back in elegant waves. He realizes he'll never see her smile again, or the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, or the way she bites her bottom lip when she's deep in thought.

All these realizations flash through his head in a matter of seconds, and then he's shaking, clenching his fists at the injustice of it all.

He turns away before he can lose the cool composure he's being trying to maintain all day. He's not sure how to break the news to her, and he tells himself that his hesitation is because he doesn't want her to worry or pity him, but deep inside he feels his stomach knot with anxiety as the gravity of the situation becomes so much heavier. Once he voices his condition it becomes real; it won't be just a nightmare plaguing his mind anymore. He can't just pretend it's all a dream. He's almost tempted to just lie and give her a vague response, to tell her that he's sick and leave it at that, but this is Elena. She cared and he knew it, and he couldn't lie to her, not about this.

And so he opens his mouth, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "I'm going blind," he says, his eyes trained on the stone steps by their feet.

And as much as he loves the enchanting, melodic sound of her voice, for once he's thankful that she's quiet and says nothing, instead just reaching forward to gently take his hand in hers in silent shock, twining their fingers together. Mateo squeezes her hand tightly in response, and finally lifts his eyes back up to the sunset.

The scene is blurry, and this time he isn't sure if it's because of his failing vision, or because of the tears forming in his eyes.

...

It's only been a week since his diagnosis, and already most of Avalor has heard the news.

The hardest part had been telling his mom, and for the first time he truly wished he was already blind so he wouldn't have had to see the way her face morphed into an expression of heartbroken pity.

He allows the sympathy from his mother, yet he makes all of his friends swear not to feel sorry for him, knowing it would only make the situation all the more uncomfortable and depressing than it already was.

He's still searching, night and day for some sort of spell or potion that can cure him, but according to the physician his vision loss is due to genetics, and he's not certain if magic can permanently rewrite DNA.

It's when his eyesight is about halfway gone that Mateo approaches Elena, holding a crisp piece of paper folded in his hands.

"What's this?" she asks curiously when he hands it to her.

"My resignation letter," he admits in a soft voice. "Avalor can't have a royal wizard that's blind."

Elena reads over the letter, her face void of any emotion. Then she rips it in half and crumples up the pieces into a ball.

"Resignation denied," she tells him, folding her arms across her chest in a defensive stance, as though signaling that her decision is final.

Mateo gaps at her. "But Elena," he counters, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "How can I learn new magic if I can't read anymore? And how am I supposed to brew potions and cast spells if I can't see what I'm doing?"

"Nonsense. You still have four other senses, y'know," Elena points out. "And you don't really need to see to do magic. You still know the spells, you know how to use a tamborita, and you can learn through muscle memory how to make different potions."

"But Elena—" He begins to protest, but Elena brings up her hands to silence him.

"Plus, you still have all of us and an apprentice to help you," she reminds him. "Don't give up on yourself Mateo, because no one's given up on you."

Mateo wants to disagree, to convince her that he's going to become a liability rather than an asset to the kingdom, but her words warm his heart and he wants to believe them, so he simply gives her small nod and turns to leave before she reaches out and catches his arm.

"Mateo…" her voice is soft and Mateo suspects her expression is one of compassion. "You're irreplaceable. I hope you know that."

He doesn't trust his voice so he gently puts his hand over hers and hopes her words ring true.

...

Days pass by while the months slowly crawl, and Mateo tries his best to adapt to his new lifestyle. He can still see a little bit, but everything is hazy and blends into shadows and he can no longer discern the little details present on everything around him.

He learns how to make his way around the palace and the majority of the town based on pure memorization, and discovers how to differentiate his potions based on the size and weight of the vials they're contained in.

For a while it seems like everything will be fine. He's trying to keep a positive outlook on the situation and for the most part succeeds, especially when he's with his friends and family and they all act as though nothing is wrong, as though their faces aren't becoming indiscernible to him.

But it's when he's alone that it becomes the worst.

It's been three months since his diagnosis now and he's standing in the courtyard, barely able to see the early morning sun glinting above the horizon, his hand shaking slightly as he holds out his tamborita in front of him.

He can still do this.

The potted plant across the enclosure acts as his target, and it's not too far away. He should be able to knock it over with a simple spell.

But the target is fuzzy and when he tries to squint and focus on the plant it seems to shift and blend into its surroundings.

He calls out the spell and slaps his palm against the head of he tamborita, and winces as it hits the wall behind the target. He tries again, his hands shaking more and his breath unsteady at the aggravation clouding his mind. He can do this. He has to be able to do this.

But the third time he tries the spell is cast way off, and ends up hitting the garden trellis on the other side of the courtyard.

"Mateo!" he hears Elena's voice call in concern, and then suddenly he feels her beside him and her hands are on his arm, lowering his tamborita and gently removing it from his clenched fist. "What are you doing? You're not hurt, are you?"

Mateo shakes his head, his chest aching in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. "I'm—I'm fine," he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Then what in Avalor were you doing?" Elena asks exasperatedly, and even though he can't see it Mateo knows there's a worried expression currently etched into her features.

"It's...nothing," Mateo huffs, turning away from her and heading back to his workshop. She doesn't need to see him like this; to see how fragile and weak he is, and that his lack of vision is affecting him more than he'd like to admit.

But of course she follows him, ever the concerned friend. "You practically destroyed half the garden—I wouldn't call that nothing," she presses, and Mateo only quickens his steps, trying to get away before he loses control. They reach his workshop and he goes to stand behind his desk, pretending to try and look down at the book lying open there so she can't see his face.

"I was just practicing," he says, hoping she'll get the hint from his cold tone of voice and leave.

She doesn't, however, and only comes closer. "Why?" she insists. "Mateo, I know there's something wrong, and if you could just tell me then maybe I could help—"

"Don't," he finally snaps, his hands clenched into fists on top of his desk. "Don't pretend like you can fix this. I'm broken, Elena." His voice cracks and he hates himself all the more for it. "I'm a mess, and I can't even hit a stupid plant with a spell anymore. I—I just—" He's finding it hard to breath. "I don't know what to do, and it all just makes me so angry." The pent up frustration and resentment he's been harbouring toward his condition begins to boil over. "It's not fair! What did I do to deserve this?"

And before he can stop to think he angrily sweeps his arm across the top of his desk, and sends the large tome he was pretending to read careening to the floor. The loud thud gives him a brief moment of satisfaction before his rage disaptes, and then he sinks to the ground, hot, bitter tears flowing freely from his clenched eyes as he buries his head in his hands. He can't hold back anymore; it's too much for him to try and bottle up. He doesn't even care that Elena's there anymore; he's exhausted of pretending everything is fine, and doesn't know how to handle it all.

But a few moments later he feels Elena's cool hands on his cheeks as she curls up beside him and pulls his face against her chest, gently stroking his hair as his tears continue to flow. She whispers his name soothingly and occasionally presses soft kisses on his forehead, simply there to hold him and offer comfort through her presence. Mateo just grips her tightly, as though she's the only lifeline he has left, and cries harder than he ever has before. He cries for friends, family, and himself, and for the sights he'll never be able to see again.

...

It's a warm, Tuesday morning two weeks after his breakdown that it happens. He wakes up and opens his eyes and is greeted with nothing but darkness. He sits up and simply stares at the wall he knows is across from him.

It isn't as terrifying as he imagined it to be. Definitely strange, but not entirely disconcerting. He's been preparing himself for this moment for the last four months, so he supposes that explains the weird sense of calm he feels as he stands and begins his morning routine. What's done has been done, and he figures there's no point in shedding tears over something he can no longer fix. After he's dressed and presentable he simply leaves his room with a long sigh, ready to go and break the news to his friends and family.

...

"Elena," Mateo begins in slight exasperation after she opens the door for him for the sixth time that day, "I appreciate you wanting to help me, really, but I'm not entirely helpless. I can do things on my own, too."

It's been a week since he completely lost his sight, and although he's appreciated the constant support form those around him, it was getting to be a bit much.

He can almost imagine Elena's expression at his words, the way her lips are probably twisted into a frown and her eyes full of concern. His cheeks burn in shame at the way she is no doubt pitying him. "You don't have to stick around because you feel sorry for me. I don't...I don't want to burden you. I'm sure you have better things to do."

She's silent and he wonders what's going through her brain. "Mateo," she finally begins, slight confusion evident in her tone. "You know you're not a burden to me. And I'm not sticking beside you solely out of pity."

"Then why?" he retorts in an exasperated huff, his emotions suddenly spiking in annoyance. "Why else would you hang out with me all the time, other than to make sure I'm not going to hurt myself? To make sure I'm not helpless?" He knows in the back of his mind that this is what he fears—that people only see him as a hindrance, and even though he's been battling this fear ever since he learned of his condition it still often presents itself as a legitimate possibility.

"Mateo," Elena chides almost affrontedly. "I know you're perfectly capable of handling yourself, I just...get over zealous at times, I guess."

They're in the library now, and everything is completely still and quiet around them. Mateo accepts her explanation with a single nod and turns to head into his workshop, but the sound of her heavy breathing stops him. He turns back around and faces her general direction, wondering what in Avalor she's thinking to have her so breathless.

He's about to ask when she begins to speak again.

"And also I...I care about you, a lot, Mateo, and I—" she pauses, and then he hears the fabric of her dress rustle as she moves closer and takes his hand. "You make me feel like no one else, and I can hardly describe it, it's just...I want to spend time with you for you, not because I think you're incompetent or anything."

Mateo's standing as still as a statue, his mouth opening in pure shock. He's always loved her—he accepted the fact a long time ago—but now here she is, saying she cares for him, even after she's seen him struggle and break down several times throughout these past few months? And she still likes him for him, despite all his shortcomings?

"You don't have to say anything back," Elena quickly says, trying to fill in the silence. "I just...thought you should know the truth." She begins to pull away but Mateo's grip on her hand keeps her anchored in place.

His heart is pounding and he's pretty sure it isn't healthy to be experiencing so many emotions at once, but one muddled thought breaks through the chaos in his mind. He needs to let her know, too.

He reaches up his hand to gently touch the side of her face, running his finger down her cheekbone and to the edge of her chin with a newfound confidence only his lack of sight seemed to procure.

Elena remains frozen in place as his fingers gently map out the contours of her face, and he smiles as he can picture every feature in perfect detail. He doesn't miss her subtle intake of breath when his fingers ghost over her lips, and he finds himself lingering there, unable to tear his fingers away.

"Mateo," she whispers softly, and he can almost feel the word against his skin rather than hear it.

Without a second thought he leans down to where he knows her lips to be and presses his own against them. And as they slowly but surely lose themselves in their sweet exchange, Mateo realizes that he doesn't need his sight to kiss her, and just for a moment he forgets he's blind. They both do.

And just for a moment, everything is perfect.

And he knows the future will be, too.


End file.
